The Second Chrononaut
by R. Franke
Summary: There's been a Backstep, but neither Frank nor Donovan are piloting the Sphere
1. Default Chapter Title

TITLE: The Second Chrononaut (Part 1 of ?)

AUTHOR: R. Franke

E-MAIL: [rbfranke@juno.com][1]

SPOILERS: Through Lifeboat (First season finale)

DISCLAIMER: Frank, Olga, et al. are the property of Christopher Crowe, Crowe Entertainment, United Paramount Networks, the actors and writers, and all other persons known or unknown with a legal claim on the characters. All characters unique to this story are the property of R. Franke. This is a story of fan fiction, written for the purpose of personal satisfaction and the enjoyment of others, and monetary or other compensation is neither expected nor desired. Copyright 1999 by R. Franke. Permission is given to archive this story, provided it is archived without alteration, including this disclaimer and copyright notice, and the author is contacted at [rbfranke@juno.com][1]

RATING: R. Character deaths, sexual situations, and brief nudity.

**THE SECOND CHRONONAUT**

"Where the hell is she?"

" For the dozenth time, stop worrying, Frank," Sheila replied. "I'm sure she'll be here. She was far too interested in the whole idea to miss it."

"Security says she checked in at 7:28 yesterday morning, and hasn't checked out since then." Ballard fiddled with his glasses, trying to find a comfortable position. "But there's nothing going on right now that would keep her overnight."

"She might not have felt like going back to that house last night," Sheila said. "I know I wouldn't." Frank raised an enquiring eyebrow. "Government issue housing," she explained. "All expenses spared. John and I had to pick her up a couple of weeks ago when her car was in the shop."

"When Olga defected," Ballard elaborated, "she managed to get out with only one small suitcase and the knowledge in her head. NSA gave her a house, and a car, and they take the cost of them out of her pay."

Sheila snorted. "House? Yeah, I guess it qualifies as a house."

Frank's eyebrow went up again. "Qualifies?"

"It's pretty small, just two rooms. Three if you count the basement," Ballard replied. "Used to be the sheriff's office, and the jail." He absentmindedly unwrapped a lollipop and stuck it in his mouth. "I've never understood why she stays there."

"Donovan," Frank called out. "Have you seen Olga lately?"

Donovan jogged over to them. "Yeah, I saw her about an hour or so ago, she was just finishing up her kata in the gym." Donovan smiled. "One of the better students I've had. She listens to her sensei, unlike some."

"Hey, I listened. Eventually."

"Yeah, after I dropped you on your ass a couple dozen times."

"Yeah, yeah. Listen." Frank stepped away from Ballard and Sheila, lowering his voice as he did so. "I appreciate this, I really do. I know I badgered the both of you, but I really want her to be able to defend herself. Maybe I'm crazy, but with what we have to do sometimes, and her being the one who goes with me," he threw up his arms. "I don't know, I probably am crazy."

"Believe me, between you teaching her how to shoot and me teaching her how to fight, she won't have to worry about a thing. You on the other hand, well," Donovan spread his hands, "she could decide she doesn't need you as her knight in rusty armor anymore."

"Thank you, Sancho Panza. Now if you're finish-Jesus Christ!" whatever Frank had been about to say was forgotten as something screamed down out of the sky over their heads and impacted on a hillside just outside the main gate. A moment later, the emergency siren began to wail. "C'mon, bro. They might need a hand."

"Hold up," Donovan replied. "They have to pass by here, we'll grab a ride with security."

The base's two fire trucks and one ambulance screamed past them, followed by two security humvees. The lead humvee twisted in a bootlegger's turn and raced back, sliding to a halt beside them. "What the hell are you doing here, Parker?" yelled Ramsey from the driver's seat.

"Nice driving, Ramsey," Frank retorted. "Your insurance company must love you."

"We don't have time for this," Talmadge snapped from the passenger seat. "Frank, Craig, the Sphere has disappeared from the hangar, and the gate guard reports it landing less than fifty yards away from him. I don't have to tell you what that means."

Frank and Donovan looked at each other in shock, then they both scrambled into the back of the vehicle. "C'mon, Ramsey, let's go," yelled Frank.

The other humvee had turned around and came screeching to a halt behind Ramsey's vehicle. "Barnes," he ordered the driver of the second vehicle, "bring Dr. Ballard as well." The humvee's wheels threw up a rooster tail of gravel as he spun it about. As soon as the vehicle straightened out, Ramsey snatched the hand mike from its' clip. "Ramsey to Security, Plan Epsilon Seven, I repeat Epsilon Seven," he barked. "We have a possible hostile in Sphere. I need a team at the impact site now."

"You have a plan for a hostile chrononaut?" Donovan yelled.

"Hey, I get paid to be paranoid," Ramsey retorted, swerving around a crater in the road just before they went through the main gate.

"And you do so love your work, don't you?" Frank replied.

"Enough," growled Talmadge as the humvee screeched to a halt. "Let's find out what's going on first."

"Looks to me like the Sphere hit once, on the road inside the fence," Donovan replied as they stepped out of the vehicle. "Then it bounced, and came down again on the hill." 

The four men turned to look at the Sphere. It had buried itself a quarter of the way into the scree of the hillside. Bolts of electricity arced across the surface of the Sphere as the timefield gradually faded. The humvee carrying Mentnor and Ballard pulled up behind them.

"Not a fun ride," commented Frank. He turned back to look at the crater in the road. "And that gate guard's a damn lucky guy." The other three turned to look at the crater as well. The path of the Sphere had carried it directly over the guard shack.

The gate guard had realized it as well, and stood white-faced, his rifle gripped in trembling hands. Ramsey walked up to him and placed his hand on the rifle. "Davidson, I'm relieving you."

"I-I'm all right, sir," Davidson replied.

"Son," replied Ramsey, "there's no shame in taking a break if you need to."

"I'll be fine, sir. Just a little shaken up."

Ramsey took his hand off the rifle. "If you're wrong, I'll make you wish your grandparents had never been born."

Davidson saluted. "Yes, sir."

Ramsey saluted in return, and walked over to join the others. "Anybody know what the hell's going on here?"

"I think we're about to find out," Mentnor replied as the Sphere's hatch landed on the ground with a thud. Two humvees carrying the security team pulled up behind them. Ramsey drew his pistol and stepped to the front of the group.

An orange-suited figure appeared in the hatchway and stumbled out of the Sphere. It fell to its knees, then stood up and staggered towards them.

"That's far enough, pal," Ramsey ordered, leveling his weapon at the unknown chrononaut. Behind him the security team moved into position. The figure stopped and raised its hands to its helmet. "That's right," Ramsey continued. "Nice and slow."

The figure fumbled at the helmet latch with gloved fingers, removing the helmet and dropping it on the ground. "Don't be tiresome, Mr. Ramsey," Olga retorted, peeling off her gloves. "I doubt we have the time." She looked around at the other team members. "What day is it?" 

Talmadge was the first to find his voice. "Miss Vukavitch, I…" 

He trailed off as Olga shoved the sleeve of her Spheresuit up, revealing the bar code tattooed on her arm. "What day is it?" she asked again.

"Umm, Saturday," Frank replied.

"Damn, only five days. What time is it, Mr. Ramsey?"

"0917," Ramsey replied automatically.

"Thank you. Mr. Talmadge, I will explain everything, but for now you must remove all of the Element 115 from the storage area, put it on as many trucks as you can, and scatter it as far and as fast as possible."

Mentnor protested. "The last time we transported 115 we almost contaminated the entire Southwest." 

"We don't have a choice, Dr. Mentnor," Olga shot back. "In less then six hours Never-Never-Land will be attacked and effectively destroyed. Over two hundred of our people will be killed or wounded in the attack."

"By who?" barked Ramsey, "Russkies, Iraqis, Red Chinese?"

"No, Mr. Ramsey, by Adam's people."

Olga strode into the conference room, Mentnor at her heels. "It's genuine," he replied to their enquiring looks. "The same as Frank has on his arm."

"The 115 is being loaded onto two freight trains and as many trucks as we could obtain, all headed in different directions," Talmadge said levelly. "You said you would explain, Dr. Vukavitch?" It was not a question.

"Yes sir." Olga stood with her hands on the back of her chair, spearing each of them with her eyes, making sure she had their undivided attention. "A ship of alien origin will attack NNL and send in a team of five aliens, four with weapons and one with some sort of detecting device. They will take both the 115 in the storage chamber and in the reactor, but they will miss the smaller amount Dr. Ballard has in his laboratory, despite passing within five feet of it."

"A detectability threshold?" Mentnor asked.

"Apparently so."

"That's surprising," Ballard interjected. "I mean, we need a machine as big as a house, but we can detect 115 down to a few atoms worth."

"Yes," Olga replied. "You theorized the threshold may have had something to do with the need to make the detector portable."

"Which means there's a good chance the mothership will have more sophisticated sensors," Ballard concluded glumly.

"Even so," said Frank, "spreading out the possible targets will make things that much harder for our little gray buddies, especially if they need a certain amount."

"It's still a pretty slim chance," Ramsey retorted. "Anything else, Dr. Vukavitch?"

"Yes. Two F-18s out of Nellis Air Force Base were flying a live fire exercise. One of them managed to launch a missile that appeared to do some damage, before both planes were destroyed."

"I can get with Pete Phillips over at NORAD," Donovan said. "They're the only ones who could coordinate a saturation pattern over the entire country."

"I'll get you the authorization," Talmadge replied. "Get started as soon as we're done here."

"When the alien ship left," Olga continued, "it was being pursued, and fired upon, by a second, much larger alien craft." She held up her hand, forestalling her companions' questions. "We believe both ships, as well as the Concorde airliner, were destroyed in the upper atmosphere. The resulting electromagnetic pulse damaged or destroyed all unshielded electronics in Europe, Northern Africa, and a significant portion of the Eastern Seaboard of North America."

"Was 115 released in the explosion?" Mentnor asked.

"Traces of 115 were detected at a monitoring station in the Aleutian Islands two hours before my departure."

Frank groaned. "The jet stream."

Olga grimaced. "I'm afraid so. Furthermore," she paused for a moment and rubbed her eyes. "Medical facilities in coastal resort areas reported a large number of patients admitted for, among other symptoms, uncontrollable vomiting, acid-like burns on sensitive tissues, and severe neuromuscular spasms, severe enough to break bones in some cases. Fatality estimates for the East Coast alone were at well over four hundred thousand, and rising. There were no reliable estimates for the rest."

Talmadge broke the silence. "Did we send back any suggestions on how to deal with this?"

"Yes sir," Olga replied. She handed Mentnor a sheet of paper. "Dr. Mentnor was able to discover the initial entry vector of the second craft and composed a message to be sent back along that vector."

"The radioscope in Arrecibo would be the best one to transmit this," Mentnor commented.

"You'll have it," Talmadge replied.

"Captain Donovan's proposed use of NORAD to coordinate a saturation pattern over the country was also suggested," continued Olga. "And finally, National Command Authority ordered an immediate Backstep if the aliens managed to penetrate Never-Never-Land again."

"Is that everything?"

"Yes, Mr. Talmadge. The details are on the microchip."

"Very well. People, as of this moment we are Code Black. Nate, get with Brenneman and set up a defensive perimeter. You'll be in full command."

"Yes sir." Ramsey went to the door and began issuing orders in a low voice to the guard outside.

"Craig-"

"I'm on it, sir."

"Isaac, I want you on a plane to San Juan in fifteen minutes. Frank, John-"

"I'm ready."

"The Sphere's ready."

"Good. Olga," Talmadge paused. "You will stand down and get some rest."

Olga stiffened. "Sir-"

"You're so exhausted you're trembling and you've had to use a chair for physical support at least twice while you were speaking," Talmadge snapped. "If your assistants are incapable of carrying out their duties without your presence, I need to know now."

Her shoulders slumped. "My people know their jobs, Mr. Talmadge."

"Thank you." Talmadge's voice was soft. "You've performed admirably, Miss Vukavitch. Let us take it from here."

Olga walked over to Frank and caught him in a fierce embrace. Surprised, he let his arms come up and hold her. "It's all right," he murmured, stroking her hair gently. "Everything's fine."

She pulled away and smiled at him, tears glistening in her eyes. "You have work to do, Frank." She reached over and kissed him on the cheek, then walked out of the room and down the corridor.

* * * * * * * * * * *

__

FIVE DAYS EARLIER

Frank grunted as he brought the hammer down. The bell rang, Olga cheered, and the woman running the booth asked in an arch voice, "Does he ring your bell that well too, milady?"

A mischievous smile flitted across Frank's face. "Nah, her bell's a lot harder to ring."

Olga blushed as the crowd around them laughed at the exchange.

"Come on," Frank said, taking her arm. "It's almost time to meet Ballard and Sheila anyway."

Olga pulled away. "And just what," she asked, with just the barest hint of a smile in her voice, "makes you think you'd even be able to ring my bell?"

Frank's jaw dropped as the crowd laughed even harder at Olga's return volley. She smirked at Frank and walked off in the direction of the jousting field. Shaking his head, with a smile tugging at his lips, Frank broke into a trot, quickly catching up with her. Olga raised an inquiring eyebrow when he caught up, and Frank raised his hands in mock surrender. "I'll behave."

"I doubt that, Mr. Parker," she replied tartly as she allowed him to take her arm. They both scanned the crowd for Ballard's wheelchair. Olga was the first to spot the Scottish Lion fluttering above the crowd and pulled Frank over.

"Fried ice cream," Ballard greeted them, waving a spoon in one hand. "Want some?" Frank opened his mouth to reply when Ballard's cell phone rang. "Hello?" he asked. "Yes, they're both right here." Ballard grew pale as he listened. "Oh my God. We'll return immediately." He closed the phone and looked at his companions. "Never-Never-Land has been attacked."

"What?" asked Olga and Frank simultaneously.

"How?" asked Sheila.

"I don't know," Ballard replied. "Isaac just said we had to return immediately. He said there are a lot of wounded, and they need all the doctors they can get."

Sheila dug through the bag attached to the back of the wheelchair. "Frank, why don't you get the van, and meet us at the front gate."

"Got it." Frank fielded the keys and dashed off into the crowd. The women stayed with Ballard as he maneuvered his wheelchair as quickly as he could through the crowded fair.

"_Bozhe moi_," breathed Olga as Ballard drove up to the main gate. The western wing of the complex was nothing but a pile of rubble and smoke still rose from the main building.

"Brenneman," Frank jumped out as Ballard brought the van to a stop. "What happened?"

"We received a call reporting NNL was under attack." The Griffon Team leader wiped his forehead with his sleeve, leaving a clear space on his soot-begrimed face. "By the time my men arrived all we could do was fight fires and try to help the wounded."

"Who did this? And how?" demanded Frank.

"Damned if I know." Brenneman replied.

"Sir," Sergeant Walker approached, her right arm in a sling. "We've found Mr. Ramsey." She hesitated, seeming to notice the four of them for the first time. "I'm afraid he's dead as well sir."

"Thank you, Sergeant." Brenneman turned back to Frank and Olga. "We found Captain Donovan and Mr. Talmadge about twenty minutes ago. Mr. Talmadge was unconscious and badly wounded."

"And Captain Donovan?" Olga asked. Brenneman shook his head.

Frank took a deep breath. "What do you need us to do, Captain?"

"The east wing wasn't hit, we've set up a field hospital there," Brenneman replied. "Dr. Vukavitch, if you'll follow the sergeant she'll take you there."

Olga nodded. "Of course."

"Oh, and Doctor," Brenneman continued. "I'm afraid Drs. Chapel and Holder are still among the missing."

"Who is running the hospital then?"

"Nurse Regan."

"I see. Is there anything else I should know?"

"Just a reminder," Brenneman replied. "All security protocols remain in effect."

"Secur-" Olga gaped at Brenneman.

"Those are my orders, ma'am."

"Of course, Captain," she replied, her voice icy. "I would expect no less. Sergeant." The two women turned and left. 

Brenneman turned to Ballard. "Doctor, do you think you could fit a stretcher in your van?"

"Yes," answered Ballard. "I could probably fit two in if somebody takes out the back seat. There's just a couple of thumbscrews holding it in."

Brenneman grinned tiredly. "Even better."

"I've had EMT training," Sheila spoke up. "Where do you need me?"

"You can help Dr. Ballard," Brenneman replied. "Mr. Parker, once we get the seat out of Dr. Ballard's van I'll add you to one of the search and rescue teams."

Frank shoved up his sleeves, his face expressionless. "Of course, Captain."

Over thirty hours later Olga tried desperately to focus her eyes on the syringe in front of her. The tiny medical staff of Never-Never-Land had been overwhelmed by the magnitude of the calamity, and only the arrival of a team from Groom Lake had prevented a far worse medical disaster. She could only stare dumbfounded as the needle was taken from her hand and laid back on the cart. The face of the head nurse filled Olga's vision. "Dr. Vukavitch," Nurse Regan said quietly, "we can handle it from here. Everyone else has gotten a chance to rest. You're no good to anyone like this."

"But, but…" she sputtered.

"S&R hasn't found anybody in over four hours. If we need you we'll wake you." He paused. "Besides, what were planning on administering to this patient?"

Olga stared at him, her mind a complete blank. Regan smiled gently. Olga stood, stripped off her bloodstained medical scrubs and tossed them at the laundry bag. Regan silently picked them up and placed them in the bag as Olga shuffled out in search of a place to collapse.

Frank trudged up the hill, a blanket over his shoulder. Searcher's guilt filled his mind. _If only I'd dug a little faster. If only I'd dug over here instead of over there, maybe somebody who wasn't alive would be. If only._ The search teams had worked valiantly, but they had found too many corpses. He shook his head as he crested the hill, trying to banish his thoughts. He stood on the crest, his back to the base, and looked off into the night. The moon had set, and the stars shone in all their glory. The lights of Las Vegas were a barely visible glow on the horizon. 

"Freedom's an illusion, Mr. Parker," a voice spoke from the shadows below the crest. "It's not for people like us." 

"Olga?" Frank asked. He could see her, sitting just below him, her knees curled up to her chest. "May I?"

She shifted slightly, giving him room as he settled beside her. "You really should be sleeping right now, Mr. Parker."

"So should you," he replied. They sat in silence for awhile, both lost in their own thoughts. 

Olga shivered slightly. She looked up in surprise as Frank draped the blanket over her shoulders. "I've done this before," he said with a slight smile. "It gets cold up here."

"Thank you," she replied. "Won't you be cold as well, Mr. Parker?" she asked after a slight pause.

"I'll be fine," Frank said dismissively.

Olga looked at Frank, then scooted over beside him, drawing the blanket over them both.

"What did you mean?" he asked. "When you said freedom isn't meant for people like us."

"Nothing," she replied. "Everything."

"That makes sense."

"I'm tired, Mr. Parker. Please don't ask me make sense right now." They sat in silence after that, staring out into the night.

Sheila groaned as she climbed into the van. "Brenneman's assistant, aide, whatever the hell you call him, said everybody's stable. He doesn't think they'll need us for a while."

Ballard looked back at her with red-rimmed eyes. They'd been transporting the wounded from the wreckage to the field hospital, and shuttling rescue workers and supplies to where they were needed, catching whatever short naps they could in between trips. "Good." He pulled the van away from the field hospital and parked it beside a pile of rubble that had once been a wall. "If they need us they'll find us," he said, swinging his chair around. Ballard undid the straps and fell forward out of the chair, catching himself on his hands. He pulled himself forward just enough that his legs were straight and then collapsed on the van's carpeted floor. Sheila grabbed a blanket and spread it over them as she settled down beside him.

"Isaac?" Talmadge's voice was hoarse, and barely audible, even to himself. He tried again. "Isaac?"

Mentnor awoke with a start. "It's all right Bradley. Everything's fine."

"My people?"

"They're in good hands. Get some rest."

"We'll have to Backstep," Talmadge muttered as he slipped back into unconsciousness.

Frank awoke with a start

"Frank?" Olga asked muzzily, raising her head from his chest. "What is it?"

"Nothing," Frank replied. He chuckled. "I can't believe we fell asleep sitting out here." 

Olga looked at Frank, then leaned forward and kissed him on the lips. 

"Wha-" Frank began, but Olga silenced him with a finger across his lips.

"Shh," she breathed. "Don't talk." A slight push on his shoulder laid Frank on his back as she molded her body against his. She opened her lips and let her tongue dance with his as she felt his erection stir against her.

Olga moaned as Frank's lips left a trail of fire down her neck to her breasts. Fingers clumsy with lust undid buttons, opened zippers, their own, the other's, it didn't matter.

She gasped when he entered her, her hips rising to meet him, pulling him deeper into her. Their eyes met, offering and demanding complete communion, even if only for one night.

The offering was accepted, the demand acceded to even as a wave of orgasm broke over them, leaving them lying limp and spent in its wake.

"Tracking data from both military and civilian radars indicate what seems to be a search pattern conducted by the alien craft, starting from the East Coast and moving west, until approximately here, near Denver, Colorado." Olga brushed her hair back from her face. "At which point the alien craft hovers for a short time, then precedes at a high rate of speed towards Never-Never-Land."

"An attack run," Frank stated.

"Yes," Olga replied, avoiding Frank's eyes.

"We couldn't track the missiles the aliens used," Ballard glanced at Olga and continued the briefing. "We assume they were launched during that pause, on a looping trajectory. The two missiles impacted on the west wing moments before the alien ship landed."

"A feint," Brenneman broke in. "It drew your attention away from them just long enough for them to land unopposed. No disrespect to the late Mr. Ramsey and his people, but at that point the aliens had complete control."

"The alien ship landed beside the storage building and sent an undetermined number of aliens into the building," Olga continued. "The only items removed were canisters of Element 115."

"They also," Frank added, "sent a team of five aliens into the main hangar and took the 115 in the reactor as well."

"That's when Ramsey and his men attempted a counter-attack," Ballard said. "The aliens retreated, but they pretty much wiped out Ramsey's team in the process."

"Autopsy data indicates the aliens used some type of focused sound weapon," Olga stated. "The internal organs of the victims were essentially liquefied."

"The witnesses all say that four aliens fired weapons, while the fifth carried some sort of tracking device. He was also the one who took the 115 out of the reactor." Frank paused as the Griffon Team sergeant came into the conference room and whispered something into Brenneman's ear. "The aliens then boarded the ship and left."

Brenneman cleared his throat. "Two F-18s out of Nellis were able to respond and launch missiles against the craft as it began its' ascent. Both planes were destroyed, but one missile did manage to penetrate the enemy's defenses and force the ship back down." Brenneman paused. "I've had my people out looking for the craft, and they've found it in a canyon just outside the fence."

"Crashed?" Talmadge asked, wincing as he tried to find a comfortable position.

"No sir," Brenneman replied. "Landed. And camouflaged." He paused again. "They're on top of the old Royce silver mine. Some properly placed explosives could collapse the tunnels, and the ground above. It might give us the element of surprise, and just maybe gain us a bargaining chip."

"Why not just go in and grab the 115 back if you're going to attack anyway?" Ballard asked.

"We'd just get our butts whupped again," Brenneman replied with a grim smile. "My people are good, but not that good."

"But if we can keep them from taking off, we might be able to work a deal with them." Talmadge grimaced. "I don't like it any better than the rest of you, but it may be our only chance to obtain enough 115 for a Backstep."

"What I don't understand is why," Mentnor broke in. "They warned us about Adam, saved Frank's life with that crystal, and have never indicated any objection to our work before this. Why now? And why in such a deadly fashion?"

"Desperation," Frank blurted out. The others looked at him. "I mean it's the only reason that makes sense to me," he continued. "They needed the 115, and couldn't stop to bargain or filch some from us. So they basically did a smash-and-grab."

"Yes," Mentnor returned. "But what are they so afraid of?"

Talmadge broke the silence. "Whatever it is it doesn't concern us. If we can get some 115, can we Backstep?"

"The Sphere's undamaged," Ballard replied.

"Very well people, let's find out what we can and meet back here for a strategy session in two hours."

Out in the hall Frank waited for Olga to exit the conference room, then fell in step beside her. "Olga-"

"I made a mistake last night, Mr. Parker," Olga snapped. "Something I don't care to repeat." She deftly avoided his eyes and walked rapidly away.

Frank stopped and stared after her. "You got that right, sister," he snarled at her retreating figure, then turned and stalked off in the opposite direction.

"Sheila. I didn't wake you, did I?"

"No, I wasn't really asleep. Are you looking for something?"

"Not really." Ballard poked glumly through the wreckage of his lab. "Looks like they came straight through. I'll be lucky if I've got a goddamn test tube left unbroken."

"Come back to bed, John. There's nothing you can do here now."

"You go on. I'll be there soon."

Sheila smiled fondly. "No you won't." She turned leave and then stopped. "John," she asked, staring down at something in the wreckage. "Can I ask you a question?"

"What?

"Do you remember that experiment you were running the other day?"

"Yeah?" Ballard's tone was distracted as he continued to poke through the rubble.

"What did you do with the 115 after you were done?"

"You took it back to the storage area." Ballard looked up as the import of her words sank in. "Didn't you?"

Sheila shook her head, still staring downward. "I thought you did."

Ballard wheeled over to her. Lying at Sheila's feet was an insulated metal container. Beads of condensation glittered on its' outer surface. Ballard reached down and gently picked the canister up. "Find Talmadge," he ordered. "Have him tell Brenneman and his men to hold off. We may have a Backstep."

"Dr. Vukavitch," Frank said distantly as Olga came up the hill to where he was sitting. He offered her the binoculars he had been using to study the network of canyons in front of him. "In less than two hours Brenneman and his boys will set off the C-4 and, we'll see," he ended lamely as he realized Olga had made no move to take the binoculars.

"Mr. Parker," she began. "About what happened, I mean about us, about what happened between us, I-"

"Yeah," Frank interrupted. "Don't worry, I won't mention it when I go back. It'll be like it never happened."

"No, it's not that. It's just that…" she trailed off, looking around for inspiration. "Mr. Parker, why do you have your weapon with you?"

He grimaced. "Brenneman insisted. Said the sole remaining chrononaut was too valuable a resource to be allowed out without some means of defense. It was the only way I could do this without a guard."

"Oh." She continued to look at the ground. "I see." Olga paused again and took a deep breath. "I would like to apologize to you, Mr. Parker. My behavior towards you after the meeting this morning was unacceptable."

"Listen," Frank said, looking off into the distance. "We're two adults. What happened, happened. We move on, no regrets. Hell, you won't even have done anything to regret."

"And I do regret that."

Frank turned to look at Olga. "I-I don't understand."

Olga looked away, absently noting that dawn had begun. "Every time a Conundrum call comes in, I'm glad, because it means you've survived. This time." She paused. "I watched my husband Josef, the man I had planned to spend the rest of my life with, step into a Sphere and disappear. I watched your predecessors, Mr. Parker, and I watched the autopsies on those we managed to recover." She turned back to look at Frank. "I don't think I will be able to watch yours."

Frank ran his fingers through his hair. "Look, Olga, I won't promise you I'll be safe. You'd never believe it. We both know the Sphere can be dangerous." He smiled wryly. "Hell, the only reason I got this job in the first place was because I was expendable. But I can, and I will, promise to be careful. And I promise you I'll always come back to you if I can." 

Olga smiled faintly. "I will expect you to keep your promises, Mr. Parker."

Frank smiled again and drew Olga into an embrace. They both stood, quietly enjoying the other's presence. Frank was the first to break the silence. "You know, I think this is the first time I've actually hated having to Backstep."

"Hmm?" she queried.

"When I go back we won't have done any of this, and I know there's no way you'll believe me. Hell, I wouldn't believe me. After all," he grinned, "who would believe that Olga Vukavitch actually did something on impulse?"

"You don't know me nearly as well as you think you do, Mr. Parker," she replied with a smile. "In any case, we had best return."

Frank smiled impishly. "They're not actually going to need us for at least an hour and a half." Olga opened her mouth to reply, but Frank laid his finger across her lips, then kissed her gently. His face fell as she stared at him, expressionless. "Or I could play solitaire for awhile." He started to turn away, but stopped when Olga placed her hand on his arm. Her other hand went behind his neck and she kissed him hungrily.

"Remember this," she said, her voice trembling. "Whatever I may have to decide on the other side, remember this."

"It might be enough for seven days," Ballard reported. "It might only be enough for three or four. It all depends on how much energy is left in the reactor. I'm afraid I can't be anymore accurate than that."

Talmadge sighed. "It'll have to do. He turned towards Sergeant Walker, standing patiently a few feet away. "Find Parker and Vukavitch. I want a meeting of Alpha level staff ASAP." Walker saluted and hurried off.

Frank's lips had just closed over Olga's right nipple when her pager beeped. He rolled away with a frustrated sigh as she reached down and unclipped the pager from her belt, and threw it from her as hard as she could. 

Olga smiled at his shocked look. "There are certain times I do not like to be interrupted."

"This is a side of you I haven't seen before." Frank grinned. "I think I like it."

Olga chuckled, the low, throaty, almost growly chuckle of a sexually excited woman. "Mr. Parker, you talk too much." She leaned forward and captured his lips with hers. "Far too much."

"That's the sixth time sir." Sergeant Walker looked up from her desk. "Neither Dr. Vukavitch nor Mr. Parker are answering their pagers."

"Frank may sometimes leave his pager behind, but Olga never would." Mentnor shook his head worriedly. "Especially at a time like this."

"I'll organize a search party, and start searching the buildings," Talmadge said. "Have Brenneman and his men start on the grounds. Isaac, John, I want you to check the Sphere for any sort of surprises our friends may have left behind, then recheck it, and check it again. I don't want anything going wrong with this Backstep."

"Help me with this?" Olga smiled at Frank and indicated the unfastened back of her brassiere.

Frank knelt behind her and deftly refastened the clasp. His hands slid around her waist and drew her back against him for a deep, soulful kiss.

Olga reluctantly broke the kiss. "We really do have to be going back, Frank."

He sighed. "Yeah, you're right."

"Of course," she replied primly, then giggled as Frank shot her a disgusted look. Shaking his head, he turned away to grab his T-shirt.

Olga was facing the alien as it emerged from the bushes with its weapon over its shoulder. She screamed for Frank but realized as she did so that his pistol lay on the ground in front of her. He was two steps away, and she was between him and the gun. Without thinking, she snatched up the gun and double-tapped the trigger as the alien aimed its weapon and fired. The alien spun about from the impact, the weapon flying from its hands. "Oh my God, Frank…" her voice trailed off as she turned towards Frank.

He was kneeling, his shirt in one hand, with a vaguely puzzled look on his face. His mouth worked, trying to form words. A small trail of blood flowed from the corner of his mouth. Olga dropped the gun and caught him as he collapsed bonelessly. "O- Olga," he labored, his hand reaching up to touch her cheek. "Olga, I- I-" He shuddered, and his hand fell away from Olga's cheek as his eyes rolled back in his head.

Olga looked up to see the alien crawling slowly towards its weapon. She gently laid Frank down and closed his eyes. Picking up the gun, she walked over to the alien and used her foot to shove the alien over onto its back. Ignoring the images it tried to send to her mind, her face expressionless, she raised the gun and kept firing until the hammer clicked on an empty magazine. Still without expression, she dropped the gun and went back to kneel beside Frank.

The sound that burst from her lips was older than civilization, older than speech. It was the primal cry of a risen ape realizing that no matter how much her brain set her above the other animals, against this she was powerless. She gathered him in her arms and wept.

The search team found Olga twenty minutes later, still clasping Frank's lifeless body.

"Dr. Vukavitch, please." Regan held out two pills and a glass of water. "It will help you sleep."

Olga took the pills and placed them in her mouth. She took a swallow of water and placed the glass on the table beside the bed. Wordlessly she drew back the sheet and lay down. Regan silently turned off the light and closed the door as he left.

Olga waited after Regan shut the door, silent and unmoving until she heard him walk away down the corridor. She spat the pills back out and laid them on the table beside the bed. She curled up into a fetal ball, her back to the door, and stared unseeing at the opposite wall.

"How is she, Isaac?"

"Not well. Regan said he gave her something to help her sleep, but I doubt she would take it. You know how stubborn…" Mentnor trailed off miserably.

"God." Talmadge ran his hands through his hair in frustration. "Can we find a new chrononaut in time?"

"Do we have any candidates?" Olga stood in the doorway, her face expressionless. "Well, gentlemen?" she asked again as they stared at her in shock. Wordlessly, Talmadge indicated the stack of folders on his desk.

"Olga-"

"Are you questioning my ability to perform my duties, Mr. Talmadge?"

Talmadge shook his head.

"I will have a list of suitable candidates in one hour."

The two men exchanged worried looks as she gathered up the folders and stalked down the hallway, her bearing ramrod straight.

The telephone rang. "Talmadge."

"I think you should get down here, sir. Something's happening with the alien ship."

"On my way."

"Report, Sergeant," Talmadge ordered as he entered the Situation Room, Mentnor in tow.

"Yes, sir." Walker indicated the large electronic map dominating the room. "We've managed to re-establish the connection with Cheyenne Mountain. More or less," she added as the map flickered. "The alien ship has taken off." She indicated a red icon moving across the display. "They're headed east-nor'east and ascending at a high rate of speed."

"What's that?" asked Mentnor, pointing to a second icon, this one yellow, curving up from the south.

"Unknown, sir," replied Walker. "We think it's another alien ship, much larger than the first. It seems to be firing on the first one, if those are evasive maneuvers. Oh shit," she added as a third icon appeared on the screen. "What's that fucking civilian doing there?" The map flickered again and went dark.

"Here you are, Captain Boileau."

"Thank you, Marie." The two pilots watched as the flight attendant walked out of the cockpit and closed the door behind her. The flight engineer sighed and shook her head.

"Oh, don't worry, Sophie," the co-pilot grinned. "We enjoy watching you walk away too."

"Pity I can't say the same about you, Rene," she replied.

Rene clutched his chest. "Oh, you wound me. Etienne, you must fly without me. Our pretty flight engineer has broken my heart."

Sophie rolled her eyes. "Why me, Oh Lord, why me?"

"Behave," the captain admonished, trying to look stern. The other two quieted down, but Sophie stuck her tongue out at Rene as soon as Etienne turned back to his instruments. "That goes for you too, Sophie."

"Yes, Captain," she replied. "We shall miss you, Etienne," she continued after a moment. "There aren't many who would put up with us. We make a good team."

"We do," he replied, "but twenty-five years, the last three in _Le Concorde_ here, are enough."

"What will you do now?" Rene asked.

"Once Jeanne starts college in the fall, Catherine wants to take a tour of Russia. She's always been fascinated by it, God only knows why." He smiled and shook his head ruefully. "But that's what wives are for, I suppose. To confuse their husbands."

The sudden impact made the plane rear like a wounded animal. A detached part of him noted that Catherine would be upset with him for spilling coffee on his best uniform shirt as he and Rene struggled to regain control of their craft. Behind them, Sophie tried desperately to route power to the controls. The plane clawed agonizingly at the air, then fell off into a power dive.

The last thing Etienne Boileau saw was the sharply pointed nose of his aircraft crumpling as it penetrated the hull of the second alien ship.

"We managed to get through to Oak Ridge," Sergeant Walker reported. "They say it appears to have been some kind of electromagnetic pulse. Data from various other sources indicate the affected area includes a section of the East Coast from approximately the South Carolina-Georgia border north, extending as much as two to three hundred miles inland."

"Dear God," breathed Mentnor. "All those people."

"I don't understand, Doctor." Brenneman shifted in his chair. "I thought an EMP pulse couldn't do any real harm."

"Not if you're a person or a building or something like that," Ballard replied. "But if you're a piece of electronic equipment you've just had your brains scrambled. Just think what happened to all the air traffic radars, to use just one example. Or the planes themselves, which are also electronic. Or to bring it down to Earth, think about what would happen if a traffic computer ordered every stoplight in a major city to turn green at once."

"Communications go down too," Sergeant Walker spoke up. "Rescue teams have no way of knowing where to go or who needs them, and if communications are down long enough, well, what happens when nobody knows the West Side of Manhattan has run out of food?"

"That's just for a clean EM pulse," Mentnor added. "Who knows what else the explosion sent out. With this much 115 involved I wouldn't be surprised if the entire Atlantic was contaminated."

"Not to mention whatever fallout there is will probably be carried around the world by the jet stream," Ballard put in. "Best case scenario, we spend years, if not decades, rebuilding. Worst case…" he shrugged helplessly.

"Dear God," Brenneman breathed, unconsciously echoing Mentnor. "Isn't there anything we can do?"

"Not without a chrononaut," Mentnor replied. "And we're running out of time."

Olga spoke. "I may have a solution. Dr. Mentnor, do you recall the list of candidates we compiled prior to our recruitment of Mr. Parker? Specifically the list dealing with NNL personnel?"

"Of course, but I don't-" Mentnor broke off. "Are you serious?"

"Completely."

"Could you possibly explain things for the rest of us?" Talmadge asked.

"While we were looking for Frank for that first Backstep," Mentnor explained, "we were also looking at alternatives if we were unsuccessful."

"Go on."

"A chrononaut needs to be both psychologically and emotionally stable, but highly flexible. He, or she, must also have excellent physical stamina, a high tolerance for pain, and the ability operate in an undiminished capacity under highly adverse conditions."

Talmadge leaned forward in his chair. "Are you saying we have someone here at NNL we can use?"

"Yes," Mentnor confirmed. "Olga. She scored very highly in all aspects. She was only removed from consideration due to her position on the team."

"Let me see if I understand this." Talmadge leaned back. "Dr. Vukavitch, are you volunteering?"

"I am."

"And she meets all of the criteria?"

"Better than you or I," Mentnor responded. "Better than anyone else in this room, if I recall correctly."

Talmadge stood, motioning for Olga to join him in a corner of the room, away from the others. "Are you sure?" he asked in a low voice. "There will be consequences. And I won't be able to help you."

"I know," Olga replied.

"Very well." Talmadge turned to the others. "Olga is now our chrononaut. The rest of you gather as much information as you can to send back with her."

Olga groaned in frustration as the screens of the simulator glared a baleful red. The harsh blare of the klaxon filled her ears. "Again," she ordered, taking the control stick in her hands.

"The usual NSA panel cannot be convened," Talmadge began as soon as the others had settled in their seats. "So, National Command Authority has authorized a Backstep, with Olga as our chrononaut." He paused. "Now, can we Backstep, and can we Backstep enough?"

"I am prepared," Olga stated.

"The new guidance system I installed should make controlling the Sphere a lot easier," Ballard said. "You'll be able to set it down like a baby in its cradle." 

"The 115 we have on hand is enough for a four day Backstep," Mentnor added. "And, extrapolating from the data we got from when," his pause and surreptitious glance at Olga was almost unnoticeable, "Josef returned and-"

"When my husband attempted to steal Backstep," Olga interrupted. "And I shot him."

"Well, umm, yes," Ballard replied, taking over from Mentnor. "Extrapolating from that data, the residual energy in the reactor gives us another twenty-four to forty-eight hours."

"We're in day five as it is," Talmadge stated. "Olga, as soon as we're finished, start preflight."

"It would probably be a good idea if she had a tattoo," Mentnor said. "She might have some trouble convincing us otherwise."

"Do that, then preflight. Dismissed."

Olga remained seated at the table as the others rose. "The multitudinous seas incarnardine," she quoted, staring at her hands. "How strange that nothing shows."

"Olga," Mentnor spoke gently, "Josef was an accident. And you are not to blame for Frank's death."

"I pulled the trigger," Olga stated flatly. "And I would do it again."

"Perhaps," replied Mentnor. "But Frank-"

"Would have been in his room playing solitaire if not for me." Olga stood and walked to the door.

"My dear," Mentnor continued, "you can't think-"

"I do not need sympathetic words from a kindly, cardigan-clad grandfather figure right now, Dr. Mentnor." she interrupted harshly. "I need to prepare for my Backstep." She strode out of the room and down the corridor. The three men looked at each other silently, then left to make their own preparations.

Ballard spoke into the microphone. "Reactor at eighty-five percent."

"What are her chances?" Talmadge asked out of the corner of his mouth.

"Temporally or emotionally?" Mentnor asked in reply.

"Reactor at one hundred percent," Ballard continued. "Engage."

"Engaged."

The men in the Control Booth watched as the Sphere disappeared in a swirl of titanic energy. "_Do svidanye_, Olga. Godspeed."

* * * * * * * * * * *

"Anything?" Frank asked. "This suit is starting to itch."

"Nothing yet," Donovan replied. "She did say she wasn't too sure of the exact timing of this."

"Sir," interrupted the Air Force captain in charge of the Situation Room, "we have an unknown craft entering Earth's atmosphere, proceeding in a southerly direction along the East Coast."

Frank grinned triumphantly. "Just like Olga said. Thanks, Quillen."

Two F-18/As from the Patuxent River Naval Air Station attempted to intercept the alien craft. "That's Chinese?" the lead pilot asked his wingman.

"That's what they say, boss."

"Then how come my Moo Goo Gai Pan's always cold?"

"Because you're a crappy tipper, Blue One," a voice interjected. "Return to base. There are a couple of gentlemen here who want to talk to you."

"And they're here to help me, right?" the pilot replied. "Blue Flight returning to base."

"Second unknown craft entering atmosphere," continued Quillen. "Maneuvering to intercept first craft. First craft is leaving Earth's atmosphere. Second ship is pursuing. Both ships out of range."

"All right people," Talmadge ordered. "Stand down, but let's keep alert. Reactor to standby."

"Reactor at standby," Ballard reported.

Frank walked over to where Olga was leaning against the wall of the Launch Chamber. "Hey," he chided gently, "I thought you were supposed to get some rest."

She shook her head. "I couldn't. Not yet."

Frank took her head in his hands, looking directly into her eyes. "It's over now, get some rest."

Olga shoved off from the wall. "You're right, Mr. Parker."

"Of course," he replied nonchalantly. She just groaned and walked to the door. "Oh, and Olga," he called. Olga stopped and turned to look at Frank. "Welcome to the club." She grinned tiredly in reply.

"I still don't understand why the alien shot Parker," Ramsey said. "After all, you were the one with the weapon, right?"

Olga sighed. "I don't know, Mr. Ramsey. Maybe it was because Parker was facing it and I was turned away. Maybe it was because we had not started the target practice and I still had Mr. Parker's weapon down at my side. Or maybe," she continued, her voice rising, "it was because the alien didn't like Frank's haircut." She stood, slamming her chair back against the wall. "For the last time, Mr. Ramsey," she ground out, enunciating each word, "I. Don't. Know."

"Nate." Talmadge motioned towards the door of the debriefing room. Olga sat back down and laid her head on her arms.

"Sir, I know what you're going to say," Ramsey said, closing the door behind him. "But all the microchip says is that Parker was shot, nothing more. For everything else, that chip is packed with every detail and every theory we could find. On Parker's death, nothing. Not to mention, those photos of the dead alien showed over a dozen bullet wounds. All we have to go on is what Dr. Vukavitch is telling us. And she's not telling us everything."

Talmadge sighed. "You're right. But let it go for now." He paused. "I spoke with the Pentagon earlier. They've confirmed their orders to confine Olga to the base until a decision is made as to her status."

"Same setup as with Parker?" Ramsey asked.

"Yes. I presume you've already made the necessary preparations?"

"Yes sir. Two of my best agents."

"Bring them," Talmadge ordered. Ramsey nodded and left. Talmadge turned and opened the door. "Olga?"

Olga raised her head from her arms. "Yes?" she asked, wiping her eyes.

"Are you all right?" inquired Talmadge. "I'll talk to Nate. He was out of line."

"No, he wasn't," Olga replied. "The truth is, Frank Parker would never have been out there if it wasn't for me."

"All that doesn't matter now."

"It does to me," Olga said. "I knew the proper regulations, and I should have followed them." She smiled mirthlessly. "Instead I killed another-"

A knock on the door interrupted her. Ramsey opened the door and poked his head inside. "Sir?"

"I'm sorry Olga, but-"

Olga's mouth twisted in a wry grimace. "Don't worry, Mr. Talmadge, I've been expecting this. Come in, Mr. Ramsey."

Ramsey entered, followed by two women in black business suits. "Dr. Vukavitch, these are agents Nichols and Jackson."

"Ladies," Olga nodded at the two agents. I presume I am under the same restrictions as Mr. Parker?"

"Yes," Talmadge replied. "The Pentagon has yet to make its' final decision."

"I understand."

"Well, I sure as hell don't," Frank interrupted from the doorway. He angrily shook off Donovan's restraining hand. "We should be giving Olga whatever she wants, not locking her away."

"This doesn't concern you, Parker," Ramsey snapped.

"I'm making it my concern," Frank snapped back. "We've watched you badger her for the past hour and a half, and now you're having two of your goons-"

"Frank, Nate is following my orders," interrupted Talmadge.

"Your orders?"

"And they are not open for discussion," Talmadge continued.

"Jesus Bradley-"

"Mr. Parker," interrupted Olga. "Frank," she continued, her voice soft. "Let me handle this." She laid her hand on Frank's cheek. "Please."

Frank covered her hand with his own, and looked at her. "All right," he said at last. "But if there's anything I can do, anything at all…"

Olga leaned forward and gently kissed Frank. "My white knight," she murmured with a slight smile, tears glistening in her eyes. She turned to the others. "Mr. Talmadge, Dr. Mentnor-"

"It is a security matter," Talmadge interrupted defensively. "I had no choice."

"I shall be in my quarters if you have need of me," she went on as if he had not spoken. "Gentlemen." She nodded and began to walk down the corridor, her two guards behind her.

"Dr. Vukavitch," Ramsey called after her. She stopped, her shoulders stiff. The two agents glanced at each other, then the left-hand one turned to look at Ramsey. "For what it's worth," he continued, "you have my sympathy in this."

Olga's shoulders may have slumped a fraction in relief, but her voice was steady as she replied. "Thank you, Mr. Ramsey." The men watched as she continued down the corridor.

Frank grunted as he shoved the last box into place. "I didn't believe it when you said all we'd need was one humvee, even with our shadows." He gestured at the two agents, who stood just far enough away to grant Frank and Olga some semblance of privacy. 

"I told you the furniture stayed with the house, Mr. Parker," Olga reminded him as she leaned forward to adjust the box.

"A single bed, a desk, a table, two chairs and a bookcase," Frank said. "All US Army surplus, all at least twenty to thirty years old. I've seen nun's cells that were better furnished. Or prison cells," he added.

Olga smiled wryly. "It seemed a good idea to have a reminder of what could happen."

"What do you mean, 'a reminder of what could happen'?"

"Did you really think, Mr. Parker," Olga asked, running her finger idly over the tailgate, "that your government would allow a defector into the midst of their most highly classified secret without taking precautions?"

"I suppose I just assumed- Damn," he cursed as both of their pagers went off. Behind him, the two guards reached for theirs as well. "Our master's voice."

"Frank," she paused, then fell silent as their guards hurried up to join them.

Frank glanced over at Olga as they climbed into the humvee. She seemed to be absorbed by the scenery outside her window. "Great timing, guys," he muttered as he started the vehicle and pulled out into traffic. The trip back to Never-Never-Land was made in silence.

"What's going on?" asked Frank as he and Olga joined the rest of the Backstep team in the Situation Room.

Quillen pointed to a yellow icon on the map. "The second alien ship appears to be hovering over the Caribbean. NASA has vectored the shuttle _Discovery_ to investigate." He pointed at a green icon slowly approaching the yellow one. "It was on a supply run to the ISS," he explained.

"Can we get anything else?" Mentnor asked.

"We're hooked into NASA's main communications array. It's listen-only, but if you need more I can get it."

"No, thank you," Mentnor replied. "Let's hear it."

"Yes, sir. Mission commander is Captain Roberta S. O'Hara, USN."

Donovan grinned. "Scarlett." Talmadge raised an enquiring eyebrow. "She was a detailer my plebe summer at Annapolis, sir. She's a good officer."

"We can't see anything from here, Houston," O'Hara's voice retained just a hint of a soft Southern drawl. "We're going closer."

"Affirmative, _Discovery_. Be careful."

"Yes, Mother," O'Hara replied. "There appears to be some sort of hatch opening on the side of the vessel," she continued after a pause. "Something is emerging and- Oh shit! Back, back, back!"

"_Discovery, Discovery,_ do you read, over?" Everyone in the Situation Room waited, listening to the hiss of the carrier wave. "_Discovery,_ this is Houston. Do you read?"

"Houston, _Discovery,_" O'Hara's voice was steady, but her drawl was a lot more noticeable. "I reckon we can say that a shot across the bows is a universal concept."

"Please confirm, _Discovery_, you were fired upon?'

"Not fired upon," retorted O'Hara. "Warned. And in a pretty emphatic fashion too." 

"Understood, _Discovery,_" Houston replied. "Find out what you can from where you are."

"Houston, the alien ship is leaving orbit," O'Hara said. "We've lost her."

"Acknowledged, _Discovery. _Continue with your original mission."

"Acknowledged. Proceeding to International Space Station. _Discovery_ out."

"Sir, we have a call from Arrecibo." Quillen stood with the telephone in his hand. "The aliens downloaded a transmission to their computer. They're sending it to us now." He indicated a terminal. The Backstep team crowded around it. The top half of the screen showed three groups of characters, each group separated from the others by a blank line. The middle group was in English, the top one in the alien characters of Adam's people. The bottom group was another, completely different set of alien characters. The bottom half of the screen was filled with more of the unknown alien characters.

Mentnor spoke. "The top two are the message I sent out. I've never seen anything like the one on the bottom before."

"Different ship design, different alphabet, different species," Ballard concluded. "And I don't think they like each other."

Ramsey snorted. "Cargo," he stated. "Back in WWII," he explained to their enquiring looks, "natives in the South Pacific were introduced to the modern world by having their islands overrun, first by the Japanese, then by us. Not surprisingly, a large religious cult formed around items discarded by both sides. I think I understand how they felt."

"Yes," replied Mentnor. "But which side is which?"

"Somehow," commented Donovan, "I don't think it mattered all that much to the natives."

Comments and opinions are welcome, and will be considered on their merits. [Rbfranke@juno.com][2]

   [1]: mailto:rbfranke@juno.com
   [2]: mailto:Rbfranke@juno.com



	2. Default Chapter Title

TITLE: The Second Chrononaut (Part 2)

AUTHOR: R. Franke

E-MAIL: [rbfranke@juno.com][1]

RATING: R (Language and Violence)

SPOILERS: Through Lifeboat (Season One Finale)

DISCLAMER: See Part 1

ADDITIONAL DISCLAIMER: Margaritaville lyrics copyright 1977 by Coral Reefer Music. 

COPYRIGHT: 2000 by R. Franke

AUTHOR'S NOTE: The following takes place approximately two months after the events in Part 1.

****

THE SECOND CHRONONAUT

PART II

"Colonel, I think you should perhaps examine this."

Matt MacCauley looked up as the voice came through his helmet speakers "What is it, Sergei?" he radioed back.

The spacesuited figure held up a four-foot long piece of metal. "This is one of the support legs for the secondary communications dish."

"Please tell me it's an extra one and you want to use it for a limbo pole."

"I'm afraid not, Colonel. It just came off in my hand."

"I do not believe this," Olga grumbled as the zipper on her skirt refused to close. "I've been exercising." She took the skirt off and threw it on her bed, pulling another one out of the closet. "Thank God for elastic waistbands."

"Olga?" Ballard knocked tentatively at her door. "You ready?"

"Just a minute," Olga called. She quickly slipped into her labcoat, checked her appearance one last time in the mirror and grabbed her laptop on her way out of her quarters. "Is it finished?"

"The computer's building the latest model as we speak," Ballard replied.

"Morning guys."

"Oh, shut up Mr. Parker," Olga snarled as she stalked past him.

"Another duck and cover day?" Frank murmured softly.

"Pig," Olga called over her shoulder. Ballard gave Frank a sympathetic grimace in reply and continued down the corridor.

"Maybe if I'm really, really lucky she'll find somebody else to be pissed at today," Frank muttered as he took a sip of his coffee.

"You heard me, Houston," MacCauley said. "Captain Bondarev and I found twelve separate cases of advanced metal fatigue. I'm sending you the list now."

"Roger that, _ISS._ Houston is receiving," replied the ground controller.

"And tell your bosses I don't care how loud the budget boys scream, if they want this station to stay together they'd better send some replacements up on the next shuttle."

"I mean, what did I do?" Frank complained. "What the hell do I ever do?"

"Damn if I know," Donovan replied, signaling the waitress for another round. "But whatever it was she sure as hell chewed you a new asshole."

"Hell, if we didn't know she was dead I would've thought she was that Galina chick again," Ramsey slurred. "She's probably just on the rag."

"For almost two months now?"

"You know, Grant looks a lot like Bradley," Donovan commented, pulling a fifty dollar bill out of his wallet. "Or Bradley looks like Bradley. Or Grant. Whatever."

"No way man, you got- Oh yeah, it is your turn," Frank said. "Damn, he does, doesn't he?"

"You think you got problems?" Ramsey continued. "Try doing twice as much work with your staff slashed in half. ' While the Backstep program is on hiatus only minimal security will be necessary'," he mimicked. "In the meantime Mr. Ramsey, keep doing everything you've been doing, and guard the braniacs 24/7 as well." He took a swig of Jack Daniels. "Fucking Commie beancounters."

"Fucking aliens and their fucking computer virus," Ballard replied.

"Hey," Donovan exclaimed, peering owlishly at the two men. "That sounds like work. No fucking work."

"You boys want me to call you a cab?" the waitress asked as she set the drinks down on the table.

"Wasting away again in Margaritaville," warbled Ballard, occasionally coming near the actual notes of the song. Meanwhile, the jukebox was playing _Freebird._

"Nah," Frank replied. "Our chauffeurs will take care of us."

The waitress looked at the two agents sitting in a corner, sipping sodas. "All right," she replied, taking the money from Donovan. "I'll be right back with your change. And tell your friend to quiet down or we'll have to ask you to leave."

"Some people claim that there's a woman to blame."

"Hey, Parrothead," Frank swatted at Ballard's arm, connecting on the third try. "Here's your fucking margarita. Now shut up. I mean, what the hell did I do? And then the other day, I got her a cup of coffee. I mean, a cup of goddamn coffee. She hugged me. I mean, she had tears in her eyes. And it wasn't even good coffee."

"You know what your problem is, Parker?" Ramsey replied. "You are so fucking far in love with her it doesn't matter what she does. You'll take it."

"Oh, like you're so successful in the romance department, " Donovan jeered.

"Up yours."

"But it's a real beauty, a Mexican cutie."

"Shut the fuck up, ya spastic-ass cripple!" one of the other patrons yelled.

Ballard wheeled over to a large bearded man dressed in leather. "Hey, you want a piece of me, asshole?"

"Just shut the fuck up, dickbreath," the bearded man said. "Shouldn't let pencil-neck geeks like you in here anyway."

Ballard's eyes narrowed as he rolled his chair back slightly, then drove it forward into the bearded man's shins. Ballard's fist slammed into the bearded man's face as he doubled over from the pain, and catapulted him into another table, who responded by hitting the bearded man again. Several other men dressed in leather came up off their barstools and attacked the men at the table. Ballard backed up and slammed his chair forward into somebody else's shins. 

Frank grinned wolfishly as he stood. "Been a hell of a long time since we took bikers on, bro."

Donovan stood and grinned back. "I'm game if you are." The two men turned and looked at Ramsey.

Ramsey knocked back another swig. "Ah, what the hell." He stood and followed the other two as they dived into the melee Ballard had started.

"To be able to travel back in time must be a wonderful thing, Andrei Ivanovitch. This Backstep program is astonishing. It is a pity we have nothing like it."

"But we do, sir. Or rather, we did."

"Oh? I assume you have more information?"

"Of course."

"The very next file? I fear I am becoming predictable." The slight rustling of turning pages and a light tapping from the radiator were the only sounds in the room. "The base is still intact? And the equipment?"

"Yes sir. And, most of it. The important pieces. Everything else can be easily replaced."

"What about personnel?

"Of the senior personnel two are dead, one has retired, one is working for the Iranians, three more are working in relatively low-paying jobs, and one has emigrated to the United States."

"Which one?"

"This one."

"Impressive. Could she be persuaded to return?"

"I'm sure something could be arranged." 

"Would anyone care to explain exactly why I was woken up at three thirty am this morning?" Talmadge asked the four men standing in front of his desk.

"Well, sir," Frank began, "there we were, sitting peacefully at the bar having a few drinks when-"

"I don't want to hear it," interrupted Talmadge. "I've already talked with the chief. I'm docking each of you a week's pay and you don't go back there for thirty days. Is that understood?"

"But Bradley, that's the only place around closer than a hundred miles."

"Would you care to try for two weeks and sixty days, Mr. Parker?" Talmadge snapped.

Frank straightened. "Sir, no sir. Week and thirty, sir. Understood, sir."

"Good," Talmadge growled. "Do the rest of you have any problem with that?" A chorus of "No sirs" answered him. "Go home and get yourselves cleaned up," he ordered.

"We couldn't get your package together in time to make _Intrepid_'s launch window, Matt."

"Damn it, Ben," MacCauley shot back. "Did you see that list? We lose too many more components and this station's going to come apart."

"Yes, I did see it," Ben Pearce replied testily. "And if you would allow me to finish, I was saying we couldn't get it on _Intrepid_ in time, but we can get it to Baikonur. The Russians have already been told and are rearranging their payload."

"Oh. Sorry," MacCauley apologized.

"We've added some metallurgic equipment as well," Pearce added. "We want you to go over everything with a finetooth comb while we've got some extra hands up there."

"Got it," MacCauley replied. "Have you told Colonel Matryenko and the new guy yet?"

"They're being briefed now," Pearce answered. "One question though," Pearce licked his lips nervously. "From what you see up there, is this a problem for our engineers? Or should we call in the FBI?"

There was a long pause before MacCauley finally replied. "I'd hate to believe it, but this is one hell of a lot of coincidences. See what you think when you get the pieces I'm sending down." MacCauley paused again. "But yeah, I think you're going to want the Bureau in on this."

"Roger that, _ISS_, Houston out."

"One week's pay," Ramsey grumbled as he stepped from the car. "One whole goddamn week's pay."

"Did you need me to wait for you, sir?"

"Did I ask you to wait for me?" Ramsey snapped.

"No sir, you did not sir," the driver replied, putting the car in gear and backing out of the parking space. "Asshole."

"I heard that," Ramsey yelled. "I'm putting you on report." He turned and headed for his townhouse. "Damn punk."

"Well, Natty boy, I see you still have those fine people skills of yours."

Ramsey sighed. "You again. How much money do you need this time?"

"What makes you think I came here for money?"

"Well gee Dad," Ramsey replied, limping past him to unlock the door, "maybe it's because the only time any of us ever see you is when you're broke."

"There's no need to be sarcastic about it," the elder Ramsey said, following his son into the townhouse. "Can't I have turned over a new leaf, seen the error of my ways, and be looking for a chance to rejoin my family?"

Ramsey grunted. "Spare me. If you don't want money then you want a place to hide out from some pinkie-ringed mouthbreather you swindled at cards."

"Natty, I'm insulted. I seriously do want to turn my life around."

"Yeah, well forgive me if I have my doubts." Ramsey retorted. "You turn your life around so often you're like a damn pinwheel."

"This time it's different, I swear."

"Come in, Dr. Mentnor. I'll be finished setting up in just a moment."

"Will it be safe to have Mr. Parker in here for these tests?" Mentnor asked.

Olga blushed. "I was perhaps a bit excessive yesterday, wasn't I?"

"I'm sure Frank managed to re-attach his head without too much trouble," Mentnor replied dryly.

"Isaac, I do apologize."

"It's not me you need to apologize to, my dear."

Olga sighed. "I know."

"Claire had similar symptoms," Mentnor began.

Olga froze. "Symptoms?"

"Emotional volatility, although admittedly she tended more towards weepiness than anger, recurring nausea, and a general feeling of malaise."

"I-it's just some sort of bug I picked up," Olga replied weakly. "It's nothing, really."

Mentnor raised his eyebrows. "If you say so, my dear."

"Hey guys."

"Oh my God, John. What happened?" Olga's nose wrinkled. "And what is that smell?"

"My lunch," Ballard replied in a hoarse whisper. "Just please don't talk so loudly. Sardines, pickles and onions with peanut butter on white. It tastes better than you might- Olga?" he asked as she rushed past him to the bathroom. The two men could hear her retching through the closed door. "Wow, she's still got that bug?"

"I'm sure she'll be fine," Mentnor replied. "Now, how did you acquire that absolutely picture-perfect example of a black eye?"

MacCauley saluted the man coming through the airlock. "Welcome aboard, Colonel. I hereby cede command of this station to you."

Yuri Matryenko returned the salute as his feet made contact with the Velcro strip running the length of the docking module. "Thank you, Colonel. I accept command responsibility for this station. May I present my second-in-command, Major Wilkins?" he added somewhat less formally.

MacCauley nodded. "Major. I believe you know my second, Captain Bondarev."

Matryenko nodded in turn. "Captain. Is the situation as serious as I was told, Matthew Andreivich?"

MacCauley snorted. "They probably didn't tell you the half of it, Yuri."

Olga examined the test results again. "Oh God. " She brought her hands to her mouth and looked down at herself, making a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob "Oh my God. I can't- I'm- Oh God." Her cell phone rang. "Olga Vukavitch," she answered distractedly.

"Did you forget about this afternoon's staff meeting, Dr. Vukavitch?" Ramsey asked.

"Meeting?" Olga looked at her watch. "Oh, the meeting. Yes, the meeting. I apologize," she continued, sweeping the test results into her notebook and racing out of the lab. "I will be there immediately." She hung up as she reached the conference room door. "Mr. Talmadge, everyone, I do apologize," she said as she entered the conference room. "I was working and I lost track of the clock."

"Track of the time, my dear," Mentnor corrected. "You lost track of the time."

"Track of the time yes, thank you."

"We'll have to leave immediately after the meeting if we're going to make our flight, Miss Vukavitch," Talmadge said. "I hope you're already packed."

"Yes sir," Olga murmured as she took her seat.

"John, you were saying?" Talmadge continued.

"Ahem, yes." Ballard cleared his throat. "Once we found it, the virus was surprisingly unsophisticated, obviously something kludged up on the spot."

"Well that doesn't make sense," Ramsey interjected. "I mean, if they're so much more advanced than we are, shouldn't this be child's play for them?"

"Ramsey's got a point, unbelievable as that may be," Frank added. "Can we be sure this wasn't what we were supposed to find? I mean, could it be covering something else?"

"Oh butt out, Parker," Ramsey sneered.

"Tell you what, Nate," Frank snapped. "Next time, why don't you be the one diving out of the Sphere just ahead of a damn fireball and I'll be the one standing around with my thumb up my ass!"

"Enough," growled Talmadge. "John, Isaac, what about the possibility that this was a decoy program?

Both men shook their heads. "Highly unlikely," Mentnor replied.

"In fact we're pretty sure the fireball was unintentional," Ballard added.

"Pretty sure?" Frank asked. "I'm pretty sure I don't like the sound of that."

"The virus was meant to completely erase all files relating to Backstepping," Mentnor explained. "And only Backstepping."

"They were very careful to avoid anything having to do with control of the physical plant, or personnel records," Ballard added.

"They did however, add something to the medical computers," Olga interjected. "Information which appears to be leading to the possibility of a cure for many common forms of cancer."

"Appears?" Donovan asked.

"Most of the information is encrypted, and is being released on a schedule we have no way of knowing."

"Can we break the encryption?" Frank asked.

"We tried that one time," Mentnor replied. "Big chunks of the still-encrypted data started disappearing."

"Same thing started happening when we tried to remove the virus," Ballard added. "Hell of a choice the aliens have left us."

"Let me get this straight," Frank said. "This new group of aliens seems to be willing to give us the cure for cancer, right?" Mentnor and Ballard nodded. "But only if we give up Backstepping."

"So it seems," Mentnor replied.

"And that's why you think the explosion was unintentional."

"Yeah," Ballard replied. "In computer terms, they tried to write the great Babylonian novel. In cuneiform. Not surprising they made a few mistakes."

"The NSA panel is meeting to decide our response," Talmadge said. "Olga and I will be answering questions in Washington for the next few days. If the panel decides Backstep is more important, how long until we would be able to use the Sphere safely?" 

"All the physical repairs have been completed," Mentnor replied. "As for the rest, it depends on how many programs the virus has corrupted. I'd have to say two to three weeks at a bare minimum, all the way up to six months if we have to do a complete dump and reload from the master disks in the archives."

"Very well," Talmadge gathered his notes and stood. "I'll report your findings to the panel. Olga?"

"I will be with you in just a moment, Mr. Talmadge," Olga said as everyone got up from the table. "Mr. Parker? May I speak with you?"

"What is it?" Frank asked warily.

Olga waited until the others had left. "Frank, I would-" she stopped, then started again. "I would like to apologize. My behavior towards you these past weeks has been inexcusable." She laid her finger on Frank's lips as he opened his mouth to protest. "Let me finish. When I get back, we need to talk. A serious talk."

"About?"

"About us. About our-" she swallowed heavily, "our working together, and, and other things, and-"

"Miss Vukavitch." Talmadge knocked on the door. "We need to leave now."

"We will talk when I get back," she promised. She leaned forward and kissed him. "Good-bye Frank." His hand went unconsciously to his lips as he watched her hurry out the door and down the hall.

Svetlana gasped as the heavyset man sat down at her table. "Hello, my dear," he smiled. "It's been a long time."

She swallowed nervously. "What do you want?"

"You haven't been to see your sister in a while, have you?"

"What have you done to Olga?"

"My dear, I'm hurt you would think such things. The good doctor is perfectly safe. I merely wanted to suggest a little sisterly reunion might be in order." He signaled for the waiter. "Coffee, please. Black, two sugars. After all," he continued, "it is a terrible thing for a family to be estranged."

Svetlana waited until after the waiter had brought the coffee and left. "Somehow you've never struck me as being the family values type."

"You'd be surprised," he replied. "The truth is though, we need you to deliver a message to your sister."

"So I'm Western Union now?" Svetlana asked, a trace of bitterness in her voice.

The heavyset man looked at her, a slight smile on his face. "You still feel you're overshadowed by your sister?" He shrugged. "No matter. Just tell her a position as head of research and development is waiting for her at her former place of employment."

"I doubt Olga's looking to return to Russia."

He shrugged again. "Perhaps not. But the offer is there." He stood, and laid some money on the table. "Allow me." He turned as if to leave, then turned back to Svetlana. "One more thing, my dear. Not as smart as the esteemed Dr. Olga Vukavitch does not translate into stupid, by any means. Organizations such as ours are always looking for recruits, especially ones with your demonstrated abilities."

Svetlana smiled bitterly. "I understand. I believe the Americans refer to it as a package deal."

"Not at all. The offer to you is open, whether or not your sister accepts hers."

"Olga, is there anything I should know?" Talmadge asked as he raised the clear plastic privacy divider that separated them from the driver of the limousine. "About you and Frank?"

Olga looked up from her notes. "I am not sure what you mean, Mr. Talmadge," she replied, her voice wary.

"Lately, you seem to be finding it difficult to work with Frank, indeed with any of your colleagues. "

Olga looked out the window. "I-I realize I have been less than polite at times, especially to Mr. Parker."

"Your responsibility is the physical and psychological well-being of the chrononauts, is it not?" continued Talmadge.

"Yes sir."

"In your professional opinion, Doctor, is Chrononaut Vukavitch suffering any physical or psychological impairment as the result of her Backstep?"

Olga swallowed nervously. "May I have some time to consider my answer, sir?"

Talmadge sighed and rubbed his chin. "I am willing to give you as much time as you need," he replied. "Your abilities and insights have been vital to the current success of the Backstep program." He held up his hand to forestall Olga's reply. "At the same time, if you become too much of a disruptive influence, I will have no choice but to remove you from your position. However much I may personally regret doing so."

"I understand, sir."

"Frank man, what are you doing?"

"Touch that switch and you die," Frank answered, not taking his eyes from the glass in his hands.

"All right," Donovan replied. "If you explain why you're sitting here in the dark drinking," his eyebrows rose, "100 proof vodka. That's not your usual drink."

Frank continued looking at his drink. "Shut the door," he ordered, then waited until Donovan sat down. "Do you remember what she was like when she first came back from her Backstep, once things calmed down?"

"Olga?" Donovan leaned back in his chair. "Yeah. When she wasn't answering questions for the panel or working in the lab, she was hanging around you. She got real nervous if she didn't know where you were."

Frank smiled wryly. "Yeah. Affectionate too. I got more little touches from her that first week than I ever have. Even a couple of hugs." He looked up at Donovan. "I started thinking wow, something big must have gone down between us back there."

"We all noticed she was kind of emotional," Donovan replied. "I figured it was just a reaction to everything she went through."

"So did I," Frank said. "So I backed off, toned things down. You know, give her a chance to recover. Then she started getting mad at me about the stupidest things. And it made me start to wonder."

"About?" Donovan asked when it seemed Frank wouldn't continue.

"About whether I've just been making a fool of myself and she's just been putting up with me, being kind."

"Wow," Donovan replied. "What brought this on?"

"She wants to have a talk when she gets back. A serious talk. About us."

"Oh Christ man, I'm sorry."

"What the hell are you sorry for?" Frank asked. "It's not like you had anything to do with it."

"I know, but hell, I thought the two of you really had something."

"So did I," Frank replied. "So did I."

Fred Wilkins touched down at the base of the B support pylon for the station's portside solar array. Standard procedure called for him to shove off again in a slightly different direction to get into position for the next step in docking the massive Proton supply rocket with the station. This time the pylon collapsed. The other four pylons, weakened themselves, could not absorb the sudden stress and collapsed in turn. A jagged spear of metal thrust through Wilkins, killing him before he could call out a warning. 

Sergei Bondarev died when the array struck his back, crushing him against the rocket's nose. The bursting of his air and propellant tanks slewed the rocket around and sent it crashing through the station. 

Yuri Matryenko struggled against the gale of escaping air and grasped the lever that released the magnetic clamps holding the station's emergency reactor on. He never noticed the station had started a slow tumble.

Roberta O'Hara had enough time to radio a single Mayday call before another piece of the solar array smashed through _Intrepid_'s front windows.

Matt MacCauley watched as the station came apart, the severed end of his tether floating less than ten feet away. He looked down and wondered if anybody would see the brief flare as his body burnt up in the atmosphere.

"All rise," the bailiff announced.

"Dr. Vukavitch, if you would please remain standing, the rest of you may take your seats," the judge said as he settled in behind the bench. "Having reviewed both the evidence presented in this hearing and the decisions of my predecessor concerning this case, I can see no reason not to extend Dr. Vukavitch's Resident Alien Permit and work visa. Furthermore," he continued, "at the next hearing on this matter, unless the government can provide this court with a clear and convincing reason, backed by either tangible evidence or sworn testimony that Dr. Vukavitch's rather unique status should be continued, I shall order any and all restrictions on Dr. Vukavitch be lifted and she be free to pursue citizenship in this country, remain as a resident alien or leave this country if she so desires."

"Your honor," protested the government's representative, "the facts in this matter have not changed in any way. Dr. Vukavitch remains a security risk. The fact that she has already betrayed one country is-"

"The phrase, counselor, is 'defected from'," the judge interrupted. "Something this court thought the United States wished to encourage Soviet citizens to do."

"Under normal circumstances that would be true, your honor. In this particular case, however, due to Dr. Vukavitch's position and the highly classified nature of Program B22-Z11-A, certain additional security measures were deemed necessary."

"I have read the government's report. If Dr. Vukavitch was, and remains, such a security risk, why was she even allowed access to B22-Z11-A in the first place?"

"I-I believe the head of research and development at the project specifically requested her, your honor."

"Yes," the judge replied, donning a pair of reading glasses and looking through his notes. "That would be Dr. Isaac Mentnor, would it not?"

"I believe so, your honor."

"You believe so, Mr. Hsing?" the judge replied, looking sternly over the top of his glasses.

"I mean- I mean yes, your honor."

"I notice Dr. Mentnor has filed several protests in this matter, as has Mr. Talmadge."

"This arrangement was originally proposed by Mr. Talmadge's then head of security, Ira-"

"I took the liberty of requesting a deposition from the current security chief," the judge interrupted. "Mr. Ramsey's reply was interesting, to say the least."

Olga hung her head. "Oh no," she muttered.

"I beg your pardon, Doctor?"

"Nothing, your honor. My apologies."

"Hmm." The judge adjusted his glasses. "Mr. Ramsey has provided this court with an accounting of your transgressions. It is an exhaustively detailed list."

"Yes, your honor," Olga murmured.

"However," the judge continued, "I would like to quote from his concluding remarks. 'Any loyalty that must be enforced at the point of a gun, no matter how metaphorical that gun may be, is not only worthless in and of itself, it is also inimical to the continued loyalty and effectiveness of other persons within the organization.' He goes on to state that in his opinion you should have never been granted access to Project B22-Z11-A, but now that you have been, you should be held to the same standards as every other member of the project. He also states that while you have violated numerous security regulations, your transgressions do not rise to the level of active treason. Dr. Vukavitch? You seem surprised."

Olga closed her mouth with a snap. "I am. Your honor."

"The purpose of this court is to balance the legitimate security needs of the government against the rights of the individual." The judge leaned back in his chair and removed his glasses, massaging the bridge of his nose where the glasses had rested. "My initial reaction was to immediately lift the restrictions on Dr. Vukavitch. I have a deep aversion to the use of what can only be called the tactics of extortion and intimidation by our government."

"Your honor," protested Hsing.

"Nevertheless the government does have a legitimate security interest in this matter, so I will provide the government with an opportunity to present its views. In the meantime, any deportation proceedings or restrictions on Dr. Vukavitch's movements beyond those already in place must be approved by this court." He picked up his gavel. "This court will reconvene in three months time to hear testimony from both sides and to render a final verdict in this matter. The Clerk will confer with both parties to determine an optimal date and time." He rapped his gavel on the bench. "This court is adjourned."

"Isaac?" Ballard wheeled over to where Mentnor was leaning against one of the tables, his eyes closed. "Isaac?"

Mentnor's eyes snapped open. "I'm fine, John. Just taking a little rest." He chuckled weakly. "Sometimes it's hard for an old man to keep up with all you energetic young people."

"You're awfully pale," Ballard replied worriedly. "Are you sure you don't want me to call a doctor? Or Claire?"

Mentnor shook his head. "No, no, she'll just worry over me. I just need to rest for a bit, that's all." He straightened, absentmindedly rubbing his left arm. "I just have a little work I need to do in my office." He shuffled slowly out of the lab and down the corridor.

Ballard watched him go, then wheeled in the opposite direction until he came to the security station. "Hey guys, mind if I ask a favor?"

"Sure Doc, what is it?"

"Could you guys kind of keep an eye on Dr. Mentnor?"

The two agents looked at each other. "You mind if we ask why?" the second one replied.

"He," Ballard groped for the right words. "He just seems to be getting tired awfully easily these days."

"Sounds like maybe you ought to be talking to the medicos, Doc," the first agent said. "Instead of us."

"He says he's just tired, and it's nothing to be concerned about," Ballard replied. "Or bother his wife about."

"Don't worry, Dr. Ballard. We'll make sure everyone knows to keep an eye out for him."

"Tell Sal she'll get her money, Lou. I just need a little more time."

Lou smiled slightly as his partner tied the elder Mr. Ramsey's hands with the telephone cord. "Seems to me she's given you a lot more time. But that's not why we're here, Pat."

"What do you mean?"

"Most institutions of lending expect a certain percentage of the loans they grant will never be repaid," Lou explained, pacing calmly back and forth. "As long as that percentage stays fairly low, say one, or at most two percent of all loans, the institution continues to make a profit." He chuckled. "Needless to say, most lenders fail to mention this to their clientele. After all, if word gets around, well…" Lou shrugged and spread his hands. "It's real easy to eat up your profit margin that way. Now, your so-named legitimate institutions of lending have all the apparatus of the legal system and indeed, the metaphysical weight of our entire society to use against anybody who chooses to default on one of their loans. On the other hand," he continued, "persons of an entrepreneurial nature who opt to do business in a less, shall we say, closely regulated environment, tend to discover the necessity of alternative methodologies for dealing with deadbeats such as yourself."

"My son, he's got a good job," Patrick babbled desperately. "With the government. I'll get the money from him. I can have it by tomorrow. Day after at the most."

Lou shook his head slowly. "Patrick, Patrick, Patrick," he sighed. "I fear you have come to an erroneous conclusion. Close your mouth," he ordered. Lou carefully placed a strip of duct tape over the older man's mouth. "Sal's decided your loan is essentially irrecoverable, and she's decided to be satisfied with what she has." The two watched dispassionately as Patrick struggled against his bonds. "Howsoever," he continued, "in order to prevent this from being a total loss, we are going to use you as a sort of educational aid for some of Sal's other clients who are in arrears."

His partner gripped Patrick from behind as Lou pulled out a knife and plunged it into Patrick's stomach. "They say a stab wound to the gut is a long and painful way to die," he continued, calmly pulling out the knife and wiping it clean on Patrick's shirt. "Well, how about it, Paddy me boy?" he asked as his partner let Patrick drop to the floor. "Are they right?"

"Were you able to get any indication of what the panel will decide, Mr. Talmadge?" Olga asked.

"From what I hear they're still pretty evenly divided," Talmadge replied. "More wine?"

Olga shook her head. "Thank you, no. One glass is more than enough." She idly stirred the food on her plate with her fork. "The International Space Station was very expensive."

Talmadge smiled wryly. "NASDAQ and the other high-tech markets are already starting to freefall. It won't be pretty." He sighed. "On the other hand, the Chairman's daughter is in chemo for breast cancer. And at least two other members have lost close relatives to cancer."

"I don't envy them this decision," Olga replied. Talmadge made a noncommittal noise in reply. "This is a very nice restaurant," she continued. "Very relaxed. How did you ever find it?"

"Allison and I used to keep our boat down here," Talmadge replied, obviously happy to change the subject. "Every nice weekend we could, we'd slip out of work early, collect the kids from Allison's mother and head out Pennsylvania Avenue. We'd have dinner here, spend the night on board and in the morning I'd take her out with the watermen. Sunday afternoon we'd come back in, let the chef work his magic on our catch and listen to these guys play Dixieland. Place hasn't changed a bit." He smiled as the coronet player struck up the opening notes of _When The Saints Go Marching In._ "Not one bit."

"Was everything okay with your meal, ma'am?" the visibly pregnant waitress asked.

Olga looked down at her still full plate. "Yes, I'm sorry, everything is fine. I didn't mean to cause you any problems. I was perhaps not as hungry as I thought I was."

The waitress waved away Olga's apology with a dismissive snort. "Oh please. My husband and I have five kids already, plus this little fellow whenever he decides to come out. I come here so I can get a chance to relax. Would you like me to box that up for you?"

"Yes, thank you," Olga replied. "Six children?" She shook her head. "I don't know if I could even handle one."

The waitress shrugged. "Keep 'em fed, keep 'em clothed, whack their butts when they get out of line, and never, for one second, let them doubt you love them." She smiled. "Pretty simple really. And they're worth it. Would you like some coffee? Or an after-dinner drink?"

"I'll take a cup of decaf, please," Talmadge replied. "Olga?"

Olga started in surprise. "Hmm? Oh no, nothing for me, thank you."

"I'll take the check as well, please," Talmadge continued.

"Thank you very much," the bandleader said over the applause of the patrons. "Come back and see us again next week."

"I see _Saints_ is still the final song," Talmadge smiled.

"Yes sir," the waitress smiled in return. "Been that way for thirty-four years now. Doubt it's going to change any time soon." She picked up Olga's plate and signaled a busser to clear the table. "I'll be right back with your decaf and the check."

Olga stood as the waitress left their table. "Pardon me, Mr. Talmadge."

Talmadge watched the two women walk away. "No," he murmured to himself. "She can't be."

The communications tech waved frantically at Pearce. "Sir, sir. It's _Intrepid_, sir."

"What?" Pearce demanded as the tech switched the output from her headphones to the Control Center's speaker system.

"…anybody hear me? This is the United States Space Shuttle _Intrepid_. Mayday. Mayday. If anyone is receiving this, please respond. This is the US Shuttle _Intrepid._"

Pearce grabbed the microphone. "_Intrepid_, this is Houston, we are receiving you, what is your situation?"

Everyone in the control room waited as the mayday call was repeated twice more. "Houston, this is Peter Longreve aboard the _Intrepid_. I believe myself and Dr. Adele Ngumbe to be the only survivors. What do we do?"

"Damn," Pearce muttered. "They're both mission specialists. Find out where they are," he ordered. "Who's up next and how long 'til we can launch?"

"_Atlantis_," his assistant replied. "We can't do it in less than ten hours."

"Dr. Longreve," Pearce continued, thumbing on the microphone. "Are you in control of the craft? Are either of you injured? Can you tell us anything about what happened to the shuttle or the _ISS_?"

There was another long pause before Longreve replied. "We are not in control, Houston. The hatch to the flight deck is sealed and reads zero pressure. I'm talking to you through a suit radio patched into the main antenna. Dr. Ngumbe is preparing to go out and see if she can discover anything. I have a broken arm. We don't know what happened."

"Sir, we've triangulated their position," the communications tech said.

"Well?" Pearce asked. The technician shook her head, her face grave. "God help them."

Olga answered her ringing cell phone. "Olga Vukavitch."

"Greetings, big sister."

"Svetlana?"

"Where are you?" Svetlana asked. "I'm at your house and there is somebody else living here."

"We're driving in from the airport," Olga replied. "Why are you here? What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I just thought I'd come see my favorite sister."

Olga snorted. "I'm your only sister." She covered the mouthpiece of the cell phone with her hand. "Mr. Talmadge?"

"I don't see why not," Talmadge replied, taking out his own cell phone and dialing. "Just let me make sure nothing's come up."

"So why aren't you living here anymore?" Svetlana asked.

"I had to move," Olga replied. "It is a very long story." She looked at Talmadge as he closed his cell phone.

"Frank's out for the day," Talmadge said. "He's going to be at the regular meeting place at Fifth and Broad at six. Why don't you meet up with him there and you can ride back to NNL together. That should give you most of the day with your sister. We'll call your cell if anything changes," he added as she hesitated. "It's not like we're in the saving-the-world business anymore," he finished bitterly.

Olga smiled in sympathy. "But we did pretty well at it when we were, didn't we Bradley?" Talmadge smiled wanly in reply. She spoke into her cell phone again. "Where exactly are you right now?"

"What we gonna do, man?" the shorter of the two men whined. "We need some rock."

"I know, I know," his partner snarled. "Hey, that raghead, the one runs that store over on Fifth. Fucker's got to have a lot of money there. I say we need it more than he does."

"Oh no," the first man said. "No way, man. He's got a gun."

"Well, I got one, too," the second man replied. "Motherfucker makes one move I'll pop his camelhumping ass."

"Has Olga," Talmadge paused, searching for the right word, "mentioned anything to you, Isaac?"

"No, she hasn't," Mentnor replied. "Though I think," he added with a smile, "you and I are entertaining similar hypotheses."

Talmadge smiled in return. "We could be wrong."

"Yes, we could."

"If we were right," Talmadge continued, leaning back in his chair, "Frank would be all puffed up. He 'd make a rooster look shy."

"She might not have told him yet," Mentnor commented. "If we're correct."

"True, very true. Drink?" Talmadge asked, pulling out a bottle. "Irish single malt. I've been meaning to try it."

"Single malt Irish whiskey?" Mentnor replied. "Sounds interesting."

Talmadge poured a generous amount into each glass. "I didn't think their relationship had progressed that far," he added as he handed one glass to Mentnor.

"Neither had I," Mentnor replied as he took the glass. "But it is their relationship." He held the glass up to the light. "Beautiful color. We really shouldn't be sitting here gossiping like a couple of old women," he added. Talmadge smiled in reply and raised his glass. They both sipped from their glasses. Mentnor sighed. "As much as I know it will benefit humanity, shutting Backstep down like this just doesn't feel right."

The telephone rang, interrupting Talmadge's reply. "Talmadge," he answered. His face grew somber as he listened. "Yes sir. Immediately sir." He hung up the telephone. "Backstep is a go."

"Why?" Mentnor asked.

"They've finally managed to activate the transponder for the station's reactor."

"It should be translunar and heading for the depths of space at this point," Mentnor replied.

Talmadge smiled grimly. "Should."

Mentnor straightened in his chair. "Oh no. Where?"

"Guangdong Province," Talmadge replied. "Sometime within the next six hours."

"Oh good lord. The Chinese will say it was deliberate, won't they?"

"No, no, no," Olga said "I am telling you, you get the biggest bubbles from the grape flavor." 

"Grape?" Svetlana replied. "Grape? Oh no. Watermelon. That's the one you get the huge, gigantic bubbles from."

"You think so, huh?" Olga grabbed two packs of bubble gum off the rack. "We'll just see about that."

Svetlana grinned. "Prepare to be-"

"Nobody move," yelled the man in the ski mask as he burst through the door, pistol aimed at the clerk. "Anybody moves, they die." A woman in the back of the store screamed and dropped the jar she was carrying. The man swung around, pistol moving reflexively towards the sound. He started to swing back around as he saw the storekeeper pull out a sawed-off shotgun. His hand spasmed, squeezing the trigger as the shotgun pellets slammed into his body.

Svetlana dove for the floor when she heard the shotgun blast. She looked up to see her sister thrown back against the rack of candy by the robber's bullet, an ominous stain spreading across her lower abdomen. "Olga!" she screamed, scrambling to catch her sister's collapsing form. "Somebody call an ambulance. Please God, somebody call an ambulance!"

"Right, got it," Frank said. "I'm about a block away. We'll be back shortly." he closed the cell phone, then started running when he saw the ambulance in front of the store. He barreled past the officer on crowd control, sliding to his knees beside the gurney. "Olga."

"Oh God, please no," Olga gasped in Russian, her voice high and breathy with shock. "Not again. Please God, not- Frank?" She held out her hand. "Frank?"

"Shh, shh," he soothed, taking her hand in his. "It's all right."

"Oh God. Frank, I am so sorry," she said, switching back to English. "Everything would be different this time. I was going to take such good care- Oh God!" she gasped.

Frank shook his head. "Whatever it is can wait. Let-"

"Sir," interrupted one of the EMTs. "We have to take her now."

Olga shook her head violently. "I'm pregnant." The EMTs grabbed the gurney and shoved Olga into the ambulance as Frank fell back, his shock and hurt plain on his face.

"One of you can ride along," the EMT said. "Just one."

"Frank," Olga called from inside the ambulance.

"Go," he ordered Svetlana. She glanced at him, then clambered into the back of the ambulance as the EMT pulled the door shut.

"Agent Parker?" Nichols said as she came up. "We have to-"

"And just where the hell were you?" Frank snarled. He stalked over to the Suburban and yanked open the driver's-side door. "Move." The driver took one look at Frank's face and slid over into the passenger seat.

Olga struggled to sit up, reverting to Russian as she spoke. "I have to talk to him. I have to tell him- Oh!" she gasped in pain again.

"He knows," Svetlana soothed. "You told him. Lay back."

"He doesn't know its his."

"Ma'am, please lie down," ordered the EMT.

"What?" Svetlana asked. "Never mind. Tell me later."

"There won't be a later. He's going to Backstep, I know it. I have to-"

"Ma'am, stay down or I will strap you down."

"The Duma's vote a year ago on whether to continue with the ISS or to refurbish _Mir_ was widely seen as a referendum on President Putin's policies, especially on Russia's relationship with the West," Talmadge said. He paused momentarily as Frank snorted in derision, then continued. "While the final vote could hardly be considered a ringing endorsement of his policies, Putin did manage to keep Russia in the ISS, albeit with some compromises."

"The main compromise NASA agreed to was to make the _Mir_ capsule an integral part of the ISS," Mentnor added. "While that may have been a political triumph for the Russian president, from an engineering perspective it was a less than ideal solution."

"Try disaster," Ballard interjected. "Not only is _Mir_'s technology incompatible with ours, it's also incompatible with current Russian technology. The amount of jury-rigging they've had to do is astounding."

"Do we know what happened?" Donovan asked.

"No," Talmadge said. "And incompatible technology is only one possibility. Nate?"

Ramsey started. "Huh? Oh. Command of the ISS rotates between us and the Russians on a six week schedule, with the commander of one nationality and the second of the other." he reported dully. "The last American commander was a Colonel Matthew MacCauley. Colonel MacCauley reported several components with unusually advanced metal fatigue." He paused, rubbing his red-rimmed eyes tiredly. "We've traced most of the affected components back to the same two companies. American companies. And the same small group of inspectors."

"I thought there were supposed to be safeguards set up to prevent that sort of thing," Donovan said.

"There were," Talmadge replied. "But everyone concentrated, for reasons that seemed obvious at the time, on the Russian side of the supply line."

"So those are our choices, huh?" Frank said. "Incompatible technologies or good old American greed and corruption."

"We also haven't ruled out a good old-fashioned accident," Mentnor replied. "Or sabotage."

"There is a small but vocal minority in Congress that feels the current relationship between the US and Russia is not in America's best interest," Talmadge explained. "And a sizeable minority in the Duma with similar feelings concerning Russia's best interests. It's possible supporters of either or both of these groups decided to remove the most visible and concrete symbol of cooperation between the two countries."

"In short, all we've got are a bunch of theories," Frank said. "Wouldn't be the first time." He stood. "Let's go."

"There's more," Talmadge said. "Since we don't know what happened, we need to get you on the station. John?"

"Why do I get the feeling I'm not going to like the sound of this," Frank muttered as he sat back down.

"It'll be at least another thirty-six to forty-eight hours before the Sphere is ready," Ballard replied. "Which means _Intrepid_ and the Baikonur rocket will have already launched by the time you get there. So what we plan to do is put you where _Intrepid_ can pick you up."

Frank stood up so fast his chair fell over onto its back. "Are you nuts? You're going to hang me up there in space on the off chance whoever's commanding _Intrepid_ is going to be more curious than scared of some mysterious blue sphere that just suddenly appears out of nowhere?"

"Calm down, Frank," Talmadge replied. "I'm sure John and Isaac have more of a plan than that."

"Oh yes," Ballard replied as Frank righted his chair and sat back down. "We've got a new transmitter in the Sphere that will automatically align on the nearest telecommunications satellite and connect you right to us."

"And if that doesn't work," Mentnor continued, "we have a new emergency transmitter that will send us your coordinates and the Conundrum code. All you have to do is aim it Earthward. Big Ear will pick it up and we'll be able to have the shuttle to pick you up."

"A backup plan. Makes me feel so much better," Frank muttered. 

"There's one more thing," Ballard added. "It's taken everything we can do just to get this launch. When you appear in the next timeline the virus will completely wipe the computers. We'll have to do a complete reload from the copies in the archives. And that could take months."

"Great," Frank replied. "I could use a vacation. Anything else I should know, or are we done?" Talmadge waved a dismissal.

"Frank," Donovan said as they left. "If you'd prefer not to- I mean-"

"I have to do this," Frank replied. "Now, especially, I have to do this."

"I'm sure she never meant-" Ballard said.

"Don't," Frank held up a hand. "I don't care. Just- Don't."

Talmadge watched as the others left the conference room. "I'm surprised you didn't say anything, Nate. I'm sure Frank would be more than willing to-"

Ramsey's mouth twisted. "It's not like I didn't expect this. Hell, I always thought he'd wind up some bum on a county slab one day, and we'd never know what happened. Maybe this is better." He smiled without humor. "Besides, as often as I've complained about Parker using these Backsteps for personal reasons, it seems a bit hypocritical for me to do the same thing."

"Hello?" Svetlana answered the ringing cell phone. "No Dr. Mentnor, she still hasn't woken up." She looked over at Olga, who was as still and pale as the hospital sheets she was lying on. "I will let you know as soon as she does." The rasp of the respirator and the steady beeps of the heart monitor were the only other sounds in the room. "Thank you, Dr. Mentnor. I will. Good-bye." She closed the cell phone and took her sister's hand in her own. "Please Olga," she whispered. "Please come back. Don't disappear for good this time."

Ramsey stood up from behind his desk. "Screw it, I'll be a hypocrite."

"Three hours ago China launched an attack across the Russian border," Talmadge said as Frank walked to the Sphere. "So far they're just using conventional forces, but those forces do have tactical nuclear weapons. And their strategic nuclear force remains on high alert." He paused. "Beijing is claiming it is a justifiable seizure of territory from an aggressor. An aggressor who has used a nuclear device against them."

"So if they use a nuke," Frank began.

"It will be second use," Talmadge finished grimly. "And the whole idea behind no-first-use is that it would result in massive retaliation."

"So why haven't they retaliated?" Ballard asked.

"Well," Donovan replied. "Beijing has always wanted greater access to the Siberian oil fields. They may see this as a chance to get control of them."

"So is this just a land grab?" Ballard asked. "Backed up by a nuclear threat to keep anybody from objecting?"

"If we thought so Frank wouldn't be Backstepping," Talmadge replied.

"It gets worse," Ramsey added as he joined the others. "Several of Russia's Far Eastern provinces, apparently led by the governor of Primorskiy, have joined together, declared independence from Moscow and allied with the Chinese."

"But the Russians hate the Chinese," Donovan said. "Especially the Far East Russians."

"Moscow's been cracking down lately, trying to reestablish their control," Talmadge replied. "A lot of the regional governors have been running their own private little fiefs ever since the Soviet Union collapsed. They probably see this as a chance to stay on the gravy train."

"And the Chinese get multiple points of attack on Japan and South Korea," Ramsey added.

"With Japan's modern industrial base, and their merchant fleet," Donovan said, "that would take care of a lot of their logistical problems."

"Not only for this," Ramsey agreed, "But it puts them in the perfect position to invade the US through Alaska and Canada."

"Um, Alaska is the US," Ballard pointed out.

"You know what I meant," Ramsey snapped.

Donovan shook his head. "I don't see it. Russia's a pretty big mouthful, even without the renegade provinces. And you've only got what, two months out of the year when a northern invasion is a viable option?"

"Do we know how long they've been talking about this?" Frank said. "You don't do this sort of thing on three hours notice."

"We'll let the Russians know what we can," Talmadge replied. "We have to let them handle their own problems."

Frank nodded as he entered the Sphere and started his checklist.

"Something's not right," Ballard muttered as they headed for the Control Room.

Donovan looked over at him. "With the Sphere?"

"Huh? No. With Olga and-" he waved his free hand vaguely in the air. "It doesn't add up."

"Oh, it adds up perfectly," Ramsey replied. "When it comes down to it, Vukavitch is a runner. When the going gets tough, she bolts."

"Checklist complete," Frank announced. "All systems go."

"Acknowledged," Mentnor replied. "Powering reactor. Reactor at 50 percent. 80 percent. 95 percent. Reactor at 100 percent. Engage."

Frank slammed his hand down.

A small satellite locked in a geosynchronous orbit above NNL fired its drive and left orbit. It quickly rose above the plane of the ecliptic, folded space about itself and headed for its preprogrammed destination in burst of familiar blue light.

__

END PART II

Comments? Questions? Opinions? [rbfranke@juno.com][1]

   [1]: mailto:rbfranke@juno.com



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